


There'll Be Peace (When You Are Done)

by doodleishere



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Because i like that as a plot point, Break Up, Character Death, Deal With It, Dragons, Friendship, Happy Ending, Love, M/M, Magical, Mental Health Issues, Monsters, New Spells, NextBlood, NowNext, Other, Post-Book 1: Carry On, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Shakespeare, Simon cannot sense the new magic the NowNext people have, SnowBaz, There is going to be a major character death, There is talk from beyond the grave, Vampires, Watford, background DeNiall, but like, but they come back so like, carry on, fight, i have an idea and i need to get it out, i mean.....they do DIE, idk man, it doesn't count as a character death if they don't stay dead right, it will make more sense once we make it to the part of the fic where the death takes place, it's fine, like legitimately are dead, not me, somebody ends up in the afterlife sort of, trust me on this, um i guess i should also tag this like....afterlife??, wayward son, who knows - Freeform, your fave just might show up, your most hated one might also show up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:22:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24662239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodleishere/pseuds/doodleishere
Summary: Simon, Baz, Penelope, Agatha, and Shepard head to Watford to deal with whatever new danger is threatening the World of Mages. Because of course they do.[set after Carry On and Wayward Son]
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	1. The One Where They Have To Go

**Author's Note:**

> yes, I found out after i got this idea that someone has already done it. no, i have not read that fic and will not read it until this one is done so I don't accidentally put any of that author's ideas in here.

**SIMON**

“ _There’s trouble at Watford_ ,” she said. “ _We have to go now!_ ”

Baz and I were next to the water, talking about...well, that doesn't matter. What matters is that Agatha was right behind Penny and chimed in first. “Isn’t there always?” (Which, I mean, she’s not wrong. But it still feels like the wrong thing to have said.) (Like, _Penny_ didn’t make Watford a magical target. It isn’t _her_ fault.) (And also, we rescued Agatha. I probably shouldn’t hold that over her, but we did. We always do—we always _used to_.)

Baz—face shining in the sun and hair twirling in the wind like he was a model for one of those grocery store magazines if they had a version for posh vampires on beaches—reached forward and held Penny by the arms like he was trying to hold her steady. Which, judging by how pale her face was, probably wasn’t that far off. “What is it, Bunce?” he asked.

She didn't answer him; she just shook her head and repeated herself. “We have to go _now_.”

That was what she said to me too when I asked a little while later once we were inside and getting everything together. Not that we had that much to get together. She wasn't looking me in the face. “I just—” She sighed into the space between us and then shoved her head into my chest. She still didn't look at me. “We have to _go_.”

I don't know how we managed to move her to the car. (By the time everyone was ready, Penny was just standing and breathing heavy. Not responding to anybody. Not even telling us we had to go anymore.) But someone did. I don't even think it was me; I think it was Shepard, who whispered something in her ear that none of the rest of us heard before she nodded once and opened the door.

She spelled my wings down on the way. But she wasn’t herself when she did it—she was still all breathy and wide-eyed and _pale_ —so it came out clunky and hit me square between the shoulder blades like a punch. Her magic hung there in my muscles for a few seconds before it finally spread out in slow waves until my wings were gone. (I _think_ they’re gone until a bell rings. But I don’t know how long Magic Cast By Pale Penny holds. Or how discerning it is about bell rings.)

“Sorry, Simon,” she said, and then nothing else.

And now we’re at the airport. Trying to go back home.

It takes about thirty minutes for me to swipe a couple more tickets and somebody else’s passport (I wish I had a list of all the illegal things we've done since coming to America. I think I'll make one. 1. Stealing airplane tickets. 2. Stealing passports. 3. Killing vampires that Normals don't actually know are vampires. 4...), and Penny just stands there holding Agatha’s hand and leaning into Shepard while Shepard spouts who knows what next to her. I'm assuming it's one of his stories about some magical creature he was nice to or something. And this is how I _really_ know Watford’s in danger: Penny doesn’t stop him.

“Hey,” Baz says, snagging hold of my wrist. I didn't know he was right there, so without really thinking, I yank it back; he looks at me like I’ve spat on his family’s crest. (Even if I'd known he was there, I think I'd have jumped back. I can’t have him _doing this_ right now. Trying to hold onto me like I’m something familiar. Or trying to hold onto me at all. Not after what he said on the beach.)

“How are we going to magick these useful?” I ask instead of any of the things I really want to ask him. Like _why do you keep doing this?_ And _can't you see that I'm holding you back?_ And _is there a way for me to kiss you without you kissing me back, because I would really like it if there were?_

I ask him this while I'm looking down at my hands so I don’t have to see his eyes anymore, which are grey and shallow and make me feel like I'm suffocating. Other things I think about saying to Baz during this time are: _Stop trying to fix us_. And _Put the bloody fixing on hold._ And _Let me leave before I hurt you anymore._ I won’t say any of that, though. (I won't ever say any of the things that I want to. Because then I’ll have to look at him again and see how much I hurt him every time I talk about us. Which is why I don’t ever want to. Even thinking about him is too much, and he's _right there_.)

“I don’t remember the spells Penny used last time. Maybe I could cast something else.”

“Fine,” I reply, setting the stolen tickets into his waiting hand without letting our fingers touch. (It's an effort. I try not to think about the last time I felt our hands connected. I still do.) I think he reaches out for me again, but by the time I let myself notice, I’ve turned around and started back towards Penny.

“Penny,” I say when she’s in front of me again, “what’s going on back home?”

Her eyes look glazed over like…like, I don’t know, how a donut looks glazed over, I guess. Like there’s something covering her up. And her skin still isn’t a very healthy shade of Penny; I’m half-convinced she’s going to fall out right there into Shepard and Agatha’s hands. _More_ than half-convinced. This isn’t her normal color. This is like if someone grabbed gray paint and smeared her all over with it. This is like a Baz-flavored version of Penny. This is...this is Penny when the Humdrum (me) brought her across England and sucked the blood up through her pores.

 _Wait_. The possibility slides over my skin, itchy and fiery at the same time: _Is_ it the Humdrum?

I feel like I've been doused in gasoline, and there's someone holding a lighter right above my head, ready to set me ablaze.

Shit.

If it’s the bloody Humdrum again, I swear to Merlin and Morgana and Methuselah and whoever else I need to swear to that I’m going to kill him with my bare hands. Fuck magic; I’ll choke the life right out of him. He’s not about to come back and try to steal all of magic _again_. I gave him a damn world’s worth of it. I gave him a _life_ of it.

 _Is it the Humdrum?_ I think at Penny. I want to ask her for real, but it feels like my throat has been sewn shut. So the words fly around in my head, razor sharp and cutting into me, and I expect everything to start going red. (It doesn’t.) (Because of the Humdrum.) I think that my fists are shaking; in another time, this would be the part where I start smelling smoke.

But that time isn’t now. (Because of the bloody Humdrum.) So it all still smells like airport. A busy, crowded, American airport.

**PENNY**

We have to go.

I…

We have to _go_.

Why don’t they understand that?

I’ll explain it all on the plane. I will. I just—I mean, I _can’t_ —

_We have to go._

**BAZ**

By the time I’ve magicked the tickets and the passport into ours (we’re sitting in first class this time; Crowley forbid I have to make Snow suffer through skin-to-skin contact with me, or have to watch him watch another bloody terrible action movie that he doesn’t even like), Penelope looks ready to drop. More specifically, drop dead on the ground. I’d cast something on her, but I don’t know what spells would fix this. **All better**? **Don’t despair**? Honestly, I think that any magic thrown towards her right now would just bounce right back off.

Instead, I stand next to Simon and place a hand on Bunce’s shoulder. (Simon's hip is almost touching mine. I try not to think about how close we are. If I think about it too hard, I’m afraid he’ll realize it and move away.) (When did this become me begging for scraps?) (Has it always been me begging for scraps?)

We’re surrounding Bunce, like if we all touch spare parts of her enough, she’ll come back to us. But she just stands there, breathing heavy and looking worse and worse by the minute. Maybe I should try a spell anyway.

“We’re ready to go,” I say softly. Her eyes come up to my face—but slowly, like she’s running on fumes.

“Okay,” she whispers. She shakes all of us off and heads to our gate.

I let Simon move to follow her first. Because if it were up to me, I'd still have us standing right there, soaking in as much of him as I can. (I'll beg for scraps. If scraps are all I can get, I'll beg for them.)

I shake my head and follow behind. Some part of me stops thinking about Simon Snow (thank Crowley, he takes up too much space in me) long enough to start thinking more about Watford. (The rest of me is still stuck on Snow and on how his wrist felt when I grazed my fingers on it. Traitorous brain.)

Whatever’s there…

I wouldn't be surprised if we’ve never faced anything like it before.

**SIMON**

Maybe it’s another Lamb.

I’ll run this one through with a stake. See him try to steal my boyfriend _then_. (They look good together. Like complements.) (Baz and I look like...well, we don't look like that.)

Boyfriend…

Do I still have one?

Do I still _want_ one?

I try to look over at Baz. But looking at him when he’s right next to me is like looking into the winter sun, and I just can’t stand it. It hurts to look at him up close. When I know that I’m the one stopping us from touching.

But I told him, didn’t I? I told him I’d be a bloody terrible boyfriend. This shouldn’t be a _surprise_. I _told_ him.

It’s not my fault I don’t live up to his expectations.

(It is. It’s all my fault.)

**PENNY**

We have to _go_.


	2. On The Plane

**AGATHA**

“Okay, Penny,” I say. “Spill.”

We’re on the plane. (And in first class, no less. _I_ didn’t even splurge for first class when I flew here. But I’m pretty sure none of them did either.) (The feel of Baz’s magic was on the tickets, slick and oily like it was ready to catch us all on fire. I didn’t say anything because how else were we going to get back? Tell the airport staff that we’re magicians? Spell them docile and stupid? No, thanks.)

Anyway, we’re on the plane now, and Penny made a promise to tell me once we were onboard while Baz and Simon were finding tickets—and fighting? Breaking up? (Penny’s a blabbermouth when she’s not shocked senseless and silent.) Now Baz looks like a kicked puppy, and Simon looks…like an un-magicked Simon, I guess. But one with the meat being gnawed off his bones too. (This flight better come with food. He looks like he does when he comes back to Watford after summer break.)

And they’re not sitting together. Simon is slouched in the seat nearest me (old habits die hard, I guess), and Baz is on the other side of our group of seats next to the new guy. Shepard. Who is cute until he starts talking about all the magical things he’s friends with—then he just becomes a bore.

Penny still hasn’t answered me. I elbow her, and she turns her head like I’ve woken her up. “Huh?”

“Penny. Why are we going back to Watford?”

“Oh.” She swallows and starts rolling her hands together. (Seeing her with bare hands is still something I’m having to get used to. I didn’t realize how much I noticed the purple gem on her finger until it wasn’t there anymore.) “Right.”

She takes in a breath, and I can see it rattle around in her chest, shaky and unsure. I’ve never really seen her like this. Like—like she hasn’t got it figured out. Something’s knocked her bearings out from under her, and I don’t think it’s just whatever this Watford stuff is. We’ve dealt with Watford threats before; it’s practically in the job description when you’re near the Chosen One.

I feel him breathe next to me, reminding me that we're still in his show. (Because of course we are.) (You don't get your own show, even when the Chosen One's lost his powers. You're still just a side character in his fucking life.)

Reminding me that he's the previous Chosen One. Chosen no more.

Christ. I'm surrounded by magical messes.

I put one hand on his thigh and the other on Penny’s, grounding them both, and ask her again.

**PENNY**

“Penny. We have to know what we’re getting into. What’s going on back ho—back at Watford?”

Her hand on my thigh is…new. Not bad. Not good. Agatha's been very touchy since all the crap in the desert. She was never this showy with her affection back at Watford, but maybe we weren’t ever close enough for this. Or maybe California brought it out of her. Took Agatha and ground her into submission. (I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the NowNext’s plan for her. Stuff her magical body into a meat grinder and crank.)

I look up into her eyes, and there they are, dark and gleaming. They look good in her face, I think. Like how purple gems look good inside gold bands. Meant to glitter and shine and draw attention.

Right. Watford.

“I…got a…message…” I start and stop like a video on buffer. Just when I think I’m okay enough to talk about it, another swell of emotion sings through me and sucks the words back down. If I had anything in my stomach, I think I’d be throwing it up.

Watford is in danger, and I'm not even strong enough to talk about it.

The flight attendant walks up then, tight smile parting her red lips. (Way too red. Like spilt blood but brighter.) She rolls her gaze over all of us, taking us in one by one. I’m sure we don’t look like her usual type, save for Baz and Agatha, but they always look like that. Like they can drop into a first-class seat and not be asked if they’re in the right spot. I think that's what she's going to ask us—if we're in the right seats—before she says, “Is there anything that I can get you?” The question seems more directed to Baz than the rest of us, but that doesn’t stop Simon from saying, “Food?”

The attendant is still just staring at Baz.

“Food,” Simon says again, his voice pinched. At least now I don’t have to worry about him going off; now he just sits and festers. I don’t think it’s actually that much better.

Baz sighs and rolls his eyes before shining what I can only describe as the fakest smile I’ve ever seen at the attendant. Like he's trying to be the version of him that shows up to vampire parties in Las Vegas uninvited. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was trying to enthrall her. Or slink off with her to a dark corridor. “Food for my…” He pauses, and I see something start to pull the corners of his lips down, but he corrects himself. “Friend.”

Oh. Right. They're back to this, then.

I mean, I guess I should have noticed that they weren’t sitting on the same side. But I've got a lot of things going on! Now that I’ve noticed it, I can’t _stop_ noticing it. How Simon has wedged himself against the side of the plane as far as he can physically get from Baz in our cubicle, blocked by a barricade of me and Agatha. (As if we're some kind of Baz-deterring obstacle.) How the hurt dances across Baz’s face like it’s not sure where to sit.

It didn’t really register at first; I mean, they sat on opposite ends of the room for _years_. Can you blame me? My brain is still hard-wired to see Simon on one end, Baz on the other, and think that’s alright, that this is how things should be.

This is not how things should be. This isn’t how any of this should be.

If Micah were still—

No. Not going there.

“What kind of food?” the attendant asks. She’s still only looking at Baz, and I’m tired of it. (I’m tired of a lot of things, actually, like being scared and missing Micah and not knowing exactly what's happening back home, but this seems to be the only one of those things that I can actually do something about.) “We have—”

“One of everything,” I say loudly, forcing her to turn her eyes to me. Her gaze shifts into a very badly covered glare, and I smile back. “Thanks. You can go now.”

I see her mouth tighten. She nods sharply before walking away. Hopefully she doesn't spit into my food. But I don't think I really give a rat's ass either way. (Why is it "rat's ass"? Who is giving away rat's asses so freely?)

“Bunce,” Baz hisses, “I had that handled.”

I don’t really have a filter right now, so I say, “I don’t care. She can bring Si his bloody food and sod right off.” And Simon laughs for a second just like he used to, so I think that maybe it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to say. But then I see Baz’s face when he hears Simon, and I think that maybe it was.

“Penny,” Agatha says gently, lightly squeezing her fingers against my skin. I look down at her hand so I don’t have to look anywhere else. So I don’t have to see how I know she softens her eyes when she looks at me like she’s trying to cushion the blow. (I don’t need cushioning. I won’t break. I never do.) (Also, her nails are painted a nice matte white. I didn't notice it before, but they are. And her fingers are long and thin just like the rest of her. She's a piece put together with all the right parts.) “Please tell us about Watford. Please.”

I take the deepest breath I can manage. I mean, I’ve got to tell them at some point. They’re going to find out when we get there anyway, and they should at least have as much warning as I can give them. They should know what they’ve signed up for. What we’re going to find when we make it to England.

Who I hope to Merlin that we find when we make it to Watford.

“Something attacked Watford,” I say. I have to stop to breathe again, but then the next words are out as quick as I can manage. “It attacked, and my mom told me not to come and said goodbye like she was dying, and we—" My voice fades out; I force it back even though it hurts my throat. "We have to get back to save her. To save Watford from whatever this is.”

“ _What_ attacked Watford?” Simon asks, suddenly sitting at attention. His hands are balled into fists by his knees, and his eyes are burning. He looks like a painting of fire come to life. If he were still made of magic, I’d be afraid that he’d start sparking.

“I don’t know,” I say. And I know what he needs to hear next, so I give it to him. “But it wasn’t the Humdrum. My mom would have told me if she thought it was.”

Simon visibly relaxes, sinking back down. I almost breathe a sigh of relief.

He’s not going to like what I have to say next, though.

“I think it might be NowNext again.”

Simon shoots to his feet and snarls, Agatha snaps her hand away from me like I've burned her, and Baz looks like he's going to pull a Simon and go off. Shepard...looks like Shepard.

I don't tell them that it's worse than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the airline is Plot Convenience Airlines and they have whatever seats i require first class to have for maximum angst because i've never been on a plane and don't know what the seats would actually be


	3. Still On The Plane

**PENNY**

It’s not that I don’t think my mom can handle herself; I do. She’s the best mage I know. (Not that I’ve got a list, but—you know what I mean. She’s powerful, is all I’m saying.) She knows more spells than me and Baz combined, and she knows exactly when to use them and exactly where to push the syllables for them to come out bloody perfect.

So for her to sound as scared as she did on the phone…

I don’t know. I just need to see her and know that she’s okay. I tried calling her back, but she wouldn’t answer.

I just. Need. To see her. We’ll get off this plane at some point, and we’ll go to Agatha’s place and get her wand, and then we’ll go to Watford, and it will all be fine.

But the way she said goodbye…it was like she wasn’t going to be making it back.

She’ll be fine. Nothing gets through those gates that isn’t a mage. (Unless they’re invited in by _The_ Mage—but he’s gone. I killed him with Simon’s words.) I just need to see her.

I’ll see her, and we’ll fix it. We always do.

(But her voice…)

**BAZ**

NowNext. Now _fucking_ Next.

More people trying to become intentional versions of me. And now they’ve gone and attacked Watford, the place where I lost my mother and became what I am.

I don’t understand how anyone could… _want_ this. To be the abomination that I am. Some unholy mix of vampire and mage. I’m not meant to exist; I was meant to be lit up in that room with the rest of them. This isn’t what my mother wanted. For me to be a bloody _inspiration_ to these people.

And NowNext is doing this to themselves on purpose. Turning themselves into monsters because they think that this will make them—into what? The next step in the chain? The next scientific leap? I have some news for these savages if any of them ever care to ask: this isn’t the next evolutionary goal. It's just a curse.

“Why do you think this is NowNext?” I ask instead of leaping out of this plane and finding the nearest member of their cult to slaughter. (I could do it again. Their leader wasn't all that hard to break open. Like ripping apart a particularly vicious pillow.)

Bunce sighs like something is pulling it out of her. “The way my mom described it…” She pauses and shivers, and Wellbelove brings a hand up like she’s going to reach for Penelope again; then she drops it like she’s thought better. (She left the country to forget about magic. It feels a bit wrong to be forcing her back. Do we really need an unhappy mage’s help this badly? Or are we keeping her close so she can’t leave Penelope’s side again?) (Maybe Bunce is trying to move her official title from _dread companion_ to _hero_ and taking Wellbelove along with her. Shifting her from _golden destiny_ to _unhappy sidekick_. They’d suit the parts; Agatha wouldn’t even have to learn any lines.)

Bunce sucks in a breath; it looks like someone's still trying to pull her air out of her at the same time, though, and it gives the overall effect that she's drowning. “Before she talked about the attacks, my mom said that there had been vampires coming up to magicians’ doorsteps wanting entrance, claiming they heard talk about somebody giving magic to them and they wanted to know who.”

The first vampire to enter my head is Lamb even though he's got nothing to do with this; the second is Nicodemus. Who might have nothing to do with this but also might be at the epicenter of it all. He said no to attacking Watford once; I'm not sure he'd say it again. I imagine lighting him (Nicodemus) and his tatters on fire; he fades. “That sounds like their game,” I say instead of the thing I really want to say, which is a string of words I’m not quite sure Wellbelove’s golden ears could take. “So they’re not just in America; they’ve got people in Britain, too.”

Of course they do. Because nothing with us can ever be confined, can it? No, if something bad happens, it multiplies, it breeds until it’s ready to swallow us. Danger looks at us and wonders how best to fuck us up.

Snow is still standing like he's getting ready to knock something down, so I say, "Snow, sit." He does. Like a bloody dog. (A dog that I desperately want to love me.) (I wish he'd be this obedient when I want him to talk to me about whatever's going on inside his head. Except I don't know where that would leave us.)

“And then," Penelope continues, "she told me that dark creatures were showing up outside the gates, waiting to be let in, and that’s where the attacks are.”

“Bloody predictable,” Agatha mutters. Her words are meant to bite, sharp and slick. Good to see she’s come back to herself. “Dark creatures showing up? At Watford? How very original. Like the Humdrum never tried that one out before.”

Which, to be fair, is a good point. She'd know more than the rest of us, what with all the times I heard Simon say she'd been taken or captured or shoved into wells she did not wish to be shoved into by whatever creatures the Humdrum summoned. Point to Wellbelove.

“This is _different_ ,” Penny hisses back. “It sounded like they were—like they were teaming up, sort of. This wasn’t just vampires; this was vampires, and werewolves, and goblins, and whatever else wants in, all trying to break down the gate together." Ah. That's new. Point to Bunce. "My mom sounded really scared. She sounded like—”

Bunce stops speaking. If she could get any paler, she does it now.

I think we’re all realizing it at the same time. What it means for Penelope’s mom to sound that scared with monsters clustered at the gate, banging on the bars for an invitation. Mixing like a wave of darkness meant to drown the World of Mages or any of the magicians who stand on its path to get there.

Dark creatures have gotten in before.

“Someone could have let them in,” she says on a breath. Then she says on another, “Or they could have broken through the spells. That’s why she sounded so freaked.” Then after whirling on Wellbelove: “Do you have a mirror?”

Instead of answering, Agatha slips a small circular one out of a pocket I didn’t know was stitched into her dress (pale pink, looks like it cost about as much as one of my suits, lovely) and drops it into Penny’s waiting hand. Penelope immediately flips it open and sticks it to the inside of the plane with a spell that she mumbles too quickly for me to catch, then leans back and says in a more forceful voice, “ **Mirror, mirror, on the wall.** ” The mirror glows and shimmers like a miniature sun; Shepard gets up before I do to block the opening to our cubicle with his body. (He’s useful, that one. Hats off to him for putting up with us.)

“Show me Watford,” she hisses.

The mirror emits a shrieking sound and then falls to the floor.

**AGATHA**

Of course there are bloody dark creatures trying to break into Watford. Of course there are; what else is new? ( _In more obvious news: I hate magic, and Simon doesn’t have it anymore. We’ll be right back with your broadcast after a short interlude with death_.)

I think I’ve shaken off whatever grief or familiarity spelled me dumb enough to hop along on their little adventure. I want to go back. Let me hop off this plane and see how far I can drop before someone spells me wings or sends Simon after me, _again_. (A hundred feet. I give them a hundred feet before someone comes to the rescue I’ve never requested.) (I mean, _yes_ , they did save me from the NowNext, and I’m thankful. But the smell of all their magic is starting to make my head hurt, and I miss my dog.)

But Penelope still looks like she’s about to fall over. So I guess it’s my job now to make sure she doesn’t.

We’ll take on Watford. Just like we’ve always done, except this time I'll be on the frontlines instead of the thing worth saving. (Is that really any better?)

These people just can’t find any hobbies that don’t involve saving the day.

**SIMON**

“Penny,” I say, reaching across Agatha for her, “we’re going to fix it.”

The words come out because they've always come out. But to tell the truth, I don’t even really think I believe it anymore. That we can fix it. How many times can we defeat the odds? How many times do we get to win before someone tells us we’ve exhausted our limit? I feel drained, and parts of me hurt that haven't really stopped hurting since all of this began. But I can’t tell Penny that I don’t believe we can do it or she’ll stop functioning, so I guess I have to at least pretend like I do, for now.

If I were still magic, I’d—

Well, it doesn’t matter, does it? What I’d do if I still had my magic. Because I’m _not_ made of magic anymore.

I'm not the hero.

I don’t know what to do when I’m not the hero.

All I've got are these bloody wings to show I was ever the hero at all. (Was I ever really the hero? Or was it just the part The Mage thought I sat in best? The easiest spot for me to be in so he could deploy me like a bomb whenever it struck his fancy?)

Penny lets me hold her wrist, but I’m not even sure she knows that I’m doing it.

The flight attendant decides then to come back with the food (thank _magic_ ) and sets an entire platter of different self-contained and plastic-covered dishes on the table in between all of us. I grab a dish and immediately hand it off to Penny who looks at me for a split second before taking it from me.

(What am I supposed to do if I’m not the hero?)

I grab a meal for myself and set it in my lap to eat it. (It’s red and yellow and green and I don’t care to find out any of the other details because I’m starved.) By the time I look up again, everyone has something they’re chewing on, and the lady has left, I think to grab us some more. I look across from me, just for a second, without even meaning to, and—

“Baz.”

He looks like he doesn’t want to meet my eyes, but he does it anyway. It’s exhausting to watch, honestly. How slowly his face pans up to meet mine. Part of me wishes he’d move faster. Less like syrup, more like a stream. (Like how he used to. When it was like his eyes couldn’t land on me fast enough.) (I feel my skin crawl at the thought and shove it away.) “What, Simon?”

“Your fangs aren’t out.”

He stops eating and shuts his mouth, and—yeah. His mouth doesn’t look like it’s filled up with extra teeth. It looks like he’s got as much space as he needs. I know I’m staring, but I can’t stop. His fangs have taken precedence over the rest of his mouth since—since ever. “Wow,” I hear Penny say. I think she’s probably looking at him. But I can’t look away to check. “They really _aren’t_ , Baz. How?”

I think I already know how. But I need him to say it. I need him to look me in my face and _say it_. I need him to—to acknowledge it.

(His fangs really aren't there. He looks weird.)

“Lamb,” he says quietly. Like he’s hoping I won’t hear it.

Lamb. Another perk of being with Lamb instead of me. My blood feels hot all of a sudden, and I think I want to growl. Or yell. Or something.

The flight attendant lady comes back with more containers full of food.

I don’t even glance at them.

**BAZ**

I think this is the first time in my life that I’ve wanted Simon Snow to stop looking at me.

**SIMON**

“ _This is an animal response,_ ” I heard Lamb say. “ _And you are not an animal_.”

“What are they talking about, Penny?” I scrambled to hold the phone so I could figure it out (animal response? ANIMAL RESPONSE?) but she’d pulled it away from me. I’ve still got some muscle and some height over her, though, so I lunged for it, but she figured out what I was going to do before I even figured it out, I guess, so she’d already spelled it **Up, up, and away!** and out the car window. As it drifted higher up into the sky, I could only make out certain words coming through the speakers, like “ _thirst_ ” and “ _last night_ ,” and I felt hot and itchy, and if I still had my _fucking_ magic, I’d have had the bloody phone in my hand by then. I’d have been able to hear everything Baz and Lamb were saying like it was coming through ruddy speakers. All of Nevada would have heard.

“ _…beating heart…mouth…_ ”

I could have killed him. Baz. Lamb. Whichever one started this conversation.

“I’m his boyfriend!” I tried to shout, but apparently, Penny’d already cast **Cat got your tongue** without me paying enough attention to hear her say it. (I could never cast that. Not like we were supposed to, anyway.) (And I’m thinking about my magic _again_.) (Not mine. Not mine, not mine, _not mine._ )

“Nicks and Slicks, Simon! He’s _fine_! We’d know what they were talking about if you didn’t try to take the bloody phone away from me!”

**BAZ**

But he won’t stop staring.

**SIMON**

I guess I should have known. Baz did always say I was an idiot. And the worst Chosen One to ever be chosen. (He was right. About the second thing. So why wouldn’t he be right about the first?)

“I’m going somewhere else,” I say, snatching up the nearest container. (It looks like something fancy and smells like something less so. Not that that matters right now.) It takes more effort than it usually does for me to tear my eyes away from Baz, and it feels like a loss when I finally do. Like something has fallen apart between us.

“Simon,” Penny says, “we’re on an airplane. Sit down. There’s nowhere else to go.”

But we’re on an airplane.

And there’s nowhere else to go.

She’s right. As usual. So I sit and pretend that I don’t feel Baz glaring at me. I pretend I don’t hear it when he starts telling me I have no right to be upset. I pretend I don’t hear him say, “ _Leave_ , Simon. You’ve been waiting to do it since before we came to the bloody States. Do it already.”

I pretend like I don’t think I should.

**BAZ**

He's watching me eat. He’s not saying anything; he’s just looking at me like...like I’m water sent to douse his flames. As if I’m going to drown him and stamp him out beneath my heel. As if he hasn’t incinerated me first.

Simon Snow, I can't hurt you when you've already killed me.

**SIMON**

That’s exactly how it would go, I think. If I brought it up. If I questioned him right now.

So I don’t.

What's the point? I...I'm too tired. For fighting.

Lamb showed him how to keep his fangs in. He taught him something none of us could. And he decided to leave that so he could come back with us. With me.

“Yeah, Snow?” It takes me a moment to realize he’s actually talking and then another minute to realize I said his name.

“Nothing.”

I watch him eat. And I stay in my chair. And when Shepard gets up to go to the bathroom, I slip into his spot next to Baz and hold my hand out. (I'm not good at words. But this...this I can do.) (I can reach out, can't I? That's allowed, I think. Even now. Even when we're falling apart.)

He takes it.

I don’t let it go for the rest of the flight.

It feels like the start of a goodbye.

I think I want it to be. For his sake.

**BAZ**

I don't let his hand go. He's letting me hold it. He walked across the plane and sat down next to me and offered it to me. I don't know why. We haven't just held hands in...

We're holding them now.

It feels like he's trying to tell me something with his palm. I ignore it.

**SIMON**

(What is _Baz_ supposed to do if I'm not the hero? Burn up trying to save me?)


	4. Agatha's House

**SIMON**

When we land, I’ve made up my mind.

**SHEPARD**

Okay, so, it sort of sounds like we’re getting ourselves into something kind of way over our heads. Which, I mean, I get it. I’m used to it. But I don’t think that these guys are going to go to Watford (a school for Speakers! How insane! What kind of classes do they have? _Intro to Magical History?_ _How To Choose The Right Spell For Maximum Effect?_ ) and try to talk their enemies down. If the fight with the NowNext is any indication, I’m pretty sure we’re walking into another bloodbath.

Which, again, I mean. I get it. I don’t _like_ it, but this seems like their standard protocol. Find threat, attack threat, walk away basically unscathed, go running towards new threat. I wish they’d listen to me when I say that there are easier (and friendlier, and much more interesting) ways to deal with things, but they’re all as stubborn as can get, so I think I’d have a better chance convincing the demon to unpossess me. (Which I tried. Did not work. Will not attempt again.)

I don’t know, man. Maybe I can, like, help more once we get there. Maybe show them that not every magical creature is “dark” or “bad.”

Maybe this whole thing won’t be as bad as everybody thinks it’ll be!

**PENNY**

This is going to be bad.

I don’t know _how_ bad; I just have this sinking feeling in my stomach that we’re about to go walking into our doom. Which we’ve done countless times before, don't get me wrong (Simon 1.0 was basically a flare that summoned doom to our doorstep every day), but this is…

Look, I don’t know. It just feels different. Worse somehow. My magic mirror spell didn’t do anything to ease my nerves, and I can’t stop thinking about if it was the mirror screaming at me or if I was hearing someone else screaming through it. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re going to be super late to whatever’s happening at Watford. Maybe even too late to stop it.

No. I can’t think like that. My mom—she’s _great_. Watford’s not going to fall down on her watch. This thought is really the only reason that I manage to get off the plane when we land. I just need to see my mom defending Watford like the badass that she is, and that’ll be enough to fix me. And then I can help her, and _maybe_ she’ll think about _not_ killing me for all the stuff that happened in America. _Maybe_ she won’t take my stone away from me until I’m too old to remember having a stone in the first place.

It’s comforting, actually. Thinking about how my mom’s going to punish me. Because she’s still going to be around to do so.

I know she will be.

Because I'll obliterate everything else if she's not.

“Let’s go get Agatha’s wand,” I say to the group once we’re all off. “Then we’re going to Watford to kick some dark creature ass.”

**...**

Agatha’s house isn’t all that far from the airport. Not when you’ve got magic spelling the taxi as fast as it’ll go. (And when you’re able to spell the taxi driver stupid enough to lend his car to five maybe adults.) ( **Do you trust me?** and **A thoroughly stupid thing** work wonders when cast together.) (Agatha looked like she couldn't believe I was spelling the taxi driver. But what else were we supposed to do? It was either I spell him stupid or I spell his memories away after the fact, and I wanted to try out the other spells.)

“Do you remember where you left your wand?” I ask her now, turning towards her in my seat as best I can, which really just means that I twist my top half towards her direction and leave my bottom half to ache.

She cuts her eyes at me. Oddly enough, I've missed it. “I don’t know, Penny, I was kind of in a hurry last time. After The Mage tried to kill me.”

Right. Because he couldn’t just be a regular headmaster with regular plans and regular clothes and regular facial hair. He just _had_ to have evil plans and dress like some kind of green super villain and grow that caterpillar on his face. Still, _I_ didn’t make him try to kill her, so I wish she’d stop talking to me like it’s an inconvenience.

“I’m just asking so we can help.”

Agatha sighs and leans a little bit against me, resting her head lightly on my shoulder. Her hair still smells nice even after so long a flight. Like strawberries. “I know, Pen. I’m sorry.” She straightens back up, and the scent of her leaves. “I think it’s in my bedroom. I just hope my parents will let me in and out without a fuss.”

I hadn’t even thought about how her parents would react. I probably should have, but, like I said before, a lot on my mind. I don’t think Dr. Wellbelove is going to much appreciate his daughter coming back and then taking off again. _Hi, Dad. Nice to see you. I’m back from California, but only because my friends helped me escape my imminent death and need my help saving Watford. Anyway, toodles!_

“I’m sure if we explain that it’s about Watford that they’ll be okay with it?” I say, but it comes out as a question. If it were me coming back after ditching everything without a word, my mom would spell me to the floor and interrogate me until I'd told her every secret I've kept from her since first year, and then she would come up with a spell to keep me out of California for the rest of my life.

“I don’t know,” she says, looking out the window. “But I guess we’ll see when we get there.”

We all sit in silence for probably a minute before Shepard chirps from the other side of me, “So tell me everything about Watford.” He sees my face, then adds, “Please. Just so I know what we’re looking for when we make it.”

He just really doesn't know how to be quiet, does he? Maybe one of his magical friends took that away from him.

“A gate,” I say. “And several buildings behind it.”

He grins.

I roll my eyes.

And then, for some reason, I start whispering to him about Watford! Like an idiot! (His eyes are bright while we talk like he’s cast some sort of beautification spell on them. I like how they look, I think.) (The Normal! I like how the _Normal’s_ eyes look so much that I’m trying to figure out which spells would make a mage’s eyes glisten like that! What is wrong with me?)

**AGATHA**

By the time we make it to the house, Penny and Shepard have exhausted every bit of patience I have left. Penny turned her body to talk in low voices with him about Watford, which— _why_? Why tell the Normal about everything? Why is he even with us? I know why _I’m_ here: Penelope Bunce doesn’t know how to listen to people when they tell her no. But why is _he_ here? So he can learn everything about us and blab to all his Normal and unNormal friends?

After Baz parks, I can’t get out of the car fast enough.

When I shut the door and look up, I'm not surprised. The house looks exactly the same on the outside as when I left. (Weatherization spell to block out the effects of the elements. Because we can't have anything less than perfect, can we?) It's all shiny and rich and very _much_. I think I prefer my apartment back in San Diego.

I look back to see if Penny’s going to go inside with me, but she’s standing up and looking at the back of Simon’s head so intensely that I’m half afraid she’s going to send it spinning like a top. (Shepard, it seems, has opted to stay inside the stolen taxi. Good for him. Maybe he'll talk himself silent to the seats.) (Also: why did we steal a taxi? We could have rented a car. We could have called a service. But no, every solution with these people involves magic and crime.)

It's fine that Penny's staying with Simon. It is. Maybe she can get him to stop acting…the way he’s acting. Like the rug’s been swept out from under him. Or like he’s the one doing the sweeping.

Instead of her trotting up to me, it’s Baz, who says something to Simon and then kisses him quickly on the cheek like he’s not sure he’s supposed to before catching up to me glamorously. (Everything he does is glamorous. And I am saying this as an unbiased source who no longer feels the need to flirt with darkness in order to avoid being trapped by the light.) (And when the darkness and the light are dating each other, there’s really no need.)

“I’ll help you,” he says. Which is obvious but I don’t tell him that. I just nod my head and unlock the door. But I don't open it. Not yet. My hand is resting on the knob, but I'm just standing here.

I take a few seconds to actually wonder what my parents are going to say to me. How they're going to react. I didn't tell them I was coming back, so I'm sure they'll be...surprised, to say the least. I didn't even really tell them I was leaving in the first place; I just _ran_ and thought about the consequences later.

Will they try to make me stay?

Will I let them?

I take a deep breath and push.

The house does _not_ look the same on the inside. There are papers strewn everywhere, for starters, and books thrown open on nearly every surface. I catch a few words here and there— _vampire, full moon, sea water_ —as I walk through. Even the furniture is turned wrong, like someone hopped out of it in a hurry and didn't bother to fix it back. I call out for my parents several times on the way to my room, but no one answers, and my voice echoes.

I guess this Watford thing is serious then.

Because that's clearly where they are. They would never leave the house looking like this—like it's anything less than perfect. I take a longer look at one of the books thrown open next to me, and I see that it's flipped to two pages on everything goblin. Weaknesses, strengths, brief history of the Goblin King (I see Simon's name several times in that part, so it probably also mentions what killing their king means for everyone involved; this must be the newest edition), and a rather unflattering drawing of one of them. (They're not _that_ ugly. They're actually beautiful, sometimes.) There's a smaller book right next to it, flipped open to a short insert about selkies, and next to _that_ , there's a pamphlet with the title "The Proper Mage's Quick Guide to Dark Creatures: Part One."

I force myself to look away and start moving again.

Baz and I reach my room and find the wand quicker than I really want to. (Side table drawer on the left side. I don't even remember if I'm the one who put it there.) Maybe some part of me was hoping that we wouldn’t find it at all, but—here we are. With me holding a wand in my hand again. Not because I _want_ to. But because other people _need_ me to.

Magic isn’t a choice.

I test some spells on the way out—I **As you w** **ere** the books and pamphlets closed and onto their shelves, and I **Straighten up** the piles of papers so it looks like whoever set them on the floor and tossed them onto the couch did so with a purpose. The magic spins in my gut and then shakily pours out of the wand like it’s trying to remap forgotten territory, and I have to repeat each spell a couple times before I feel like I’ve gotten used to it all again. (Like I'll ever _really_ be used to it again.) (Like I'll ever forgive myself for getting sucked back into this.)

It all makes me sick to my stomach.

“My parents are at Watford,” I tell Baz as we exit the house. I know that he knows this; I say it just so that I'm moving my mouth. I turn to lock the door back and hope that he can't see that I'm trying to hold myself together. (Why did I ever think that I got a say? Stupid. I've never gotten a say.) “They would never leave the house like this.”

“Thank you, Wellbelove," he says, sneering, but his eyes are glinting at me, so I can tell he only sort of means it. He always sneers, even when he's only half-serious; I don't know how Simon stands it. "Because I thought that your parents would purposely leave out pages about how to fight every half-magic creature in existence. Thought it was a past time of Dr. Wellbelove’s.”

“Save the sarcasm for Simon, please. I’m full up.”

I never really had a choice at all, did I? Magic is in my blood, so that's all that I am that matters. I'm not a girl. I'm not someone who likes ballet and horses and being Normal. I'm not a person with wants and dreams that don't involve putting myself in danger and sitting like a prize to be had at the end. I'm just a rubbish mage.

That's all I'll ever be.

**PENNY**

I decide to stay out here with Simon because I feel like he needs me to do that more than Agatha needs my help finding her wand.

He’s been weird since he watched Baz eat on the plane. (His fangs didn’t come out. I’m sure that must be what Lamb was talking about when he was going on about Baz’s “animal response.” We’d know for _sure_ if Simon hadn’t—nevermind.) When he was staring at Baz, I could see thoughts tumbling through his head, and he said Baz’s name but didn’t seem like he knew he’d done it. Then he walked over and sat down next to Baz and wouldn’t let go of his hand for anything, not even when he fell asleep. (Every time I woke up, I’d glance over at them, and sure enough, Simon would still be gripping Baz’s hand tight like it was a security blanket.) (I guess that’s a good thing? Simon initiating contact and keeping it?) (Then why did it feel so _weird_?)

Anyway, he won’t tell Baz what’s wrong. Before Baz went in to help Agatha, he tried to ask him, but I guess he saw the look on Simon’s face and decided not to push.

Thankfully, I am not Baz.

“Si.” He turns his head and looks at me. (His eyes…great snakes, I don’t like the look in his eyes. I feel like he's going to light himself up if we give him a match.) “Are you okay?”

“Sure.”

So, no.

“Simon.”

“Penelope.”

I place a hand on his shoulder, and it seems like he almost tenses up. I hold back the noise that starts deep in my throat. (He never tenses under my touch. He'll tense when Baz touches him, but never—never me.) (I want to pull him to my chest and never let go.) “Simon, if something else is going on—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

I feel the spot between my eyebrows scrunch up. “Of course it matters.”

He sighs and then shrugs me off and stretches his back like he’s trying to shake his wings loose. I don't know why I do it—probably because I'm still freaking out over his reaction to me touching his shoulder, probably because I thought I was exempt from hurting him and don't want to be the reason he's even the slightest bit uncomfortable for any longer—but I grab the bell out of my pocket and ring it, and his wings come shooting out so fast that I almost get smacked by one in the face. “Thanks,” he says, testing them out. Then: “And it doesn’t.” Then, after looking towards the house when we hear a door open: “We need to get to Watford.”

We all pile back into the taxi. (Agatha asks why we can’t just take one of the cars in the garage—“Because we already stole a perfectly good one,” I say. “It’d be a waste of magic to leave it now.” She gets in.) Well, all except Simon, who after several minutes of arguing back and forth with us, gets spelled invisible by me and takes to the air. (I shouldn't have opened his wings. I should have kept them closed; I should have forced him to stay close; I should have made us confront this.)

We’re finally ready.

_I'm coming, Mom._

**SIMON**

I’m breaking up with Baz once we get to Watford.

No one else is going to die because of me.

Not even if he thinks I'm where he wants to be.

**...**

**MITALI**

I need to keep fighting. I _will_ keep fighting. But I’m just…so… _tired_.

A voice sounds off behind me: " **He is evil by his very nature!** "

Oh, hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have just been cranking out chapters without really editing them and i just reread the other chapters and my gosh. they've been edited some, and more edits are probably coming soon. geez.


	5. An Attack

**SIMON**

By the time we’re close, I think I’ve come up with most of what I’m going to say to Baz. I don’t ever do this—think about what I’m going to say before saying it, I mean—but all I’ve had room for in my head is thinking since seeing him eat on the plane. (His fangs. They were in his gums. They've never done that when he's eating.)

On the beach, he told me that he wouldn’t be happy anywhere without me. But he doesn’t know that. Not really. We’ve been in each other’s lives since the Crucible cast us together as roommates; I’ve been where he’s been from that moment on. (He couldn’t even drain his bloody rats in peace. I’m a nightmare.) He doesn’t know _what_ it would be like without me.

I do.

It would be better.

He would get to be who he is without having to figure it out on his own. I don’t know anything about vampires except how to kill them (and that some of them like to be kissed in the spot where their neck meets their shoulder. But that’s not information that’s going to matter soon, and it’s only about one of them anyway.) I don’t know anything _real_ about them. I didn’t even know that Baz could tuck his fangs back in! And _he_ didn’t know it until another vampire showed him!

He doesn’t know that he wouldn’t be happier without me; I’ve never given him a chance to try it.

There’s another reason too, but I don’t think he’d listen to me if I said it. If I told him that I know that if I get hurt in this battle that he’ll come running to save me. If I told him that I can’t have him risking himself because I’m—because I’m not the bloody hero anymore.

If I told him that I can’t have another person die here because of me.

Two is more than enough.

Baz is all for specifics: _It was Penelope who killed The Mage, love._ And: _The Mage was the one who killed Ebb, not you_. But I still caused them to die. I was the one who said the words. I was the one who didn’t save Ebb. (I _was_ _magic_ , and I couldn’t save her.) (I’m nothing now, and _nothing_ isn’t good enough to fix a bloody paper cut.)

I will be good and damn well hung before I allow Baz fucking Pitch to die because of me too.

I think this right before I feel something sharp sink into my side.

**BAZ**

I can’t see Snow, and it is driving me mad.

“How do we know he’s still with us?” I ask Bunce, who, upon Snow’s _refusal_ to ride in the car with us like a sensible person (I shouldn’t even be surprised, honestly, because when has Simon Snow ever been _sensible_?), climbed over Wellbelove and flew out the back door so she could deposit herself into the seat next to me.

“I’m almost positive that he is,” Penelope says. I take a moment to glare her way before turning my eyes back to the road. And to the rearview mirror. Which shows me _nothing_ about Snow because Penelope spelled him _invisible_ …

“And I’m almost positive that I’m not going to spell your hair aflame as soon as we get out of this car,” I snarl back. “Let’s see what happens once we’re parked, shall we?” I bare my teeth and growl. (Snow does it all the time; I guess I’ve picked it up. Crowley. He’s turning me into a brute.)

Just to be clear, I would never light Bunce’s hair on fire unless the salvation of the magical world depended upon it, and only then if I were in a good mood. That’s too much even for me. (And I’m not entirely sure she’s not spelled something into it that would send the fire right back to me. She’s done wilder things. Like dye it bright red.) But after I threaten it, she rolls down her window and sticks a hand out for Simon, so I’m not going to tell her that I was bluffing. Let her think what she will about my threats, empty or not.

“Simon!” she calls out of the car. “If you’re here with us, smack my hand or something, please! Basil is worrying!”

We continue down the road for another minute.

Nothing happens.

“Bunce…” I hiss.

“Shush, Baz, I know.” She reaches down and unclips her seatbelt to lean half her body out the window; Wellbelove makes a noise of disapproval, but I doubt Bunce can hear it over the wind. (And I don’t think she’d listen to it anyway.)

Her hair whips around her face in an absolute frenzy, and I almost think her glasses are going to pop off her nose. She doesn’t seem worried about any of this, though, as she cups her hands around her mouth and shouts, “Simon Snow! If you do not show us that you are following us _right now_ , I am going to spell your wings off!”

Still. Nothing.

My hands tighten around the steering wheel. “Penelope Bunce,” I seethe, feeling her name rumble through my teeth as it comes out, “I am going to—”

She whips her head back to me just long enough to snap, “Baz, shut up,” before turning back around. She leans out a bit more—and we hit a bump in the road. Before I have time to think, I reach out and grab the back of her shirt to steady her. She hardly seems to notice. Too busy scanning the skies for a Simon Snow that we can’t bloody _see_.

Crowley, it’s always _too much_ with these people, isn’t it? No one thinks about doing anything except the strongest action other than Wellbelove, which I’m starting to admire more and more the longer I’m around Bunce. No wonder she fucked off to California the first chance she got; if I’d spent my years at Watford being saved by magic incarnate instead of pining for him, I’d probably want an ocean of distance between us too. (I never want to be any distance from Simon. I’m making a point.) Simon still pretends that he’s invincible half the time, and Penelope acts like she’s replacing him the other half. It’s bloody ridiculous. Not everything requires the biggest hit! It’s—

I’m interrupted from my thoughts by Bunce reaching around and swatting the wrist of the hand that’s holding her. “Baz,” she says, just barely loud enough for me to hear her over the rushing wind, “stop the car.”

“What?”

“Stop the car.”

“Sit _down_ ,” I say, pulling on her shirt. She barely moves. “Bunce, I am not going to be the reason that you get flung into the middle of the street. If you want me to stop the car, then sit.”

She slowly sits back down, but she’s still got her head out the window and her eyes staring at something behind us. Her glasses are just normal glasses as far as I’m aware, so I don’t think she’s looking at Snow. I glance in the rearview anyway, already knowing that I won’t see Simon, and—

I slam on the brakes.

Because there’s a bloody harpy flailing about in the air. Almost like it’s attacking something we can’t see.

**SIMON**

Correction: there are _multiple_ sharp somethings digging into my side. Well, not somethings—I know what they are. They’re talons. But knowing what they are doesn’t really help because they’re still slicing into me, and Merlin’s _beard_ do they _hurt_.

On instinct, I go for my hip, and I’m halfway through the incantation before I remember that I can’t call my sword anymore. (I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that. Not being able to summon the Sword of Mages.) I growl and swing my tail up instead. It doesn’t puncture the harpy’s skin, but it does clip it enough that the creature yanks its talons out of me and lets me drop.

I take the opportunity to scream some curses—magic ones, Normal ones, I can’t remember the difference right now—as I fly forward. I glance back at the wounds, and there’s blood pouring out of all three of them and staining my shirt. My first thought is that I need to stop it so I don’t set Baz off. My second is that Penny’s invisibility spell must have worn off because I can see myself again. (Also, how did the harpy even see me? Are harpies immune to invisibility spells?) (The Humdrum never sent any harpies after me. This was not researched.)

Then I realize that it hasn’t worn off; she’s spelled me back visible. The only reason I know this is because I finally hear her say, “Simon! Hang on!” and know that she's there. I smell the air once I hear her voice, and—there it is. Her magic, hanging like a cloud around me.

“Don’t!” I shout as the harpy comes for me again. I snap my tail at it (she?) since it’s still the only weapon I’ve got, and it (is it a she? I think I’ve heard that harpies are all female, but I don’t actually know) flings itself to the side to avoid being hit, soaring past me. I glance down and see Baz moving to stand on top of the car and aiming his wand up to where I am while Penny stands nearby with her hand raised high above her. Agatha is leaning out of the car door and holding her wand out too.

They’re all trying to save me.

Because they don’t think I can save myself.

Something flares inside of my chest. I feel something pinch in my side, and I look down to see the places where the harpy grabbed me start to close up. I know the taste of it: this is Baz’s magic, lacing me shut. I don’t know what spell he cast. But my chest burns again, and I snarl towards him before facing the harpy.

But the harpy isn’t paying attention to me anymore. She’s (I’m settling on she) screeching and flying in a twisted circle like she can’t figure out where to go, and I know that Penny’s cast some spell on her. I take the chance and rush forwards, circling my arms around her as I rush us to the ground. I think Penny is saying something, but I’m not listening.

Right before we hit the dirt, I release the harpy and shove, throwing her down harder than I probably have to. I bring my hands up to block my face and slam down further on a few seconds later, rolling as I try to tuck my wings in close. I feel something in one of them snap, and I go to scream, but nothing comes out. Everything is hot—there’s white hot pain blazing through every part of me, sparking and bouncing from my wings to my face to my tail to my everything else like it can’t decide where to stay.

Eventually, I think I feel my body come to a stop. A slow, grinding stop that seems like it rips off all my skin, and the world still feels like it’s spinning around me, and the only thing I’m able to really think is: I hurt. Everything hurts.

(Is the harpy down? Did I beat it?) (I don’t know. Everything hurts. It _hurts_.) (Harpy?) (Don’t care. Hurt too much.)

“Snow!” someone shouts at the same time that I hear someone else yell, “Simon!”

(Baz? Penny?)

(Hurt.)

“ _Snow_ ,” comes again, and this time, it sounds a lot closer. I think someone is leaning over me and feeling a spot on my neck. (I know them. They smell good. Like cedar and bergamot and spent magic.) (I hurt.)

Then they’re gripping me by the shoulders and saying my name again. “Snow, I need you to open your eyes.”

I don’t want to.

(Hurt. It hurts. Don’t they know it hurts too much to open my eyes?)

“Simon, love. _Please_.”

They really want me to open my eyes.

(But I hurt. Everything hurts.) (But they sound worried.) (Hurt.) (They shouldn't be worried.)

I force one eye open.

Baz opens his mouth and lets a breath go. His black hair is hanging down around his face, and he’s looking at me like he thought he’d be looking at something broken. I’m not sure that he’s not.

“It hurts.” The words scrape against my throat; I vote that I never speak again if it’s going to feel like this.

“I’m not surprised, Snow,” he says, and he bends down to kiss me on the forehead. I think I have a mole there. (His lips are cold. And trembling.) “You just fought a bloody harpy without any magic, you wretch.”

I think I growl at him. “Not without magic,” I force out. I can’t keep my eye open anymore, so I let it fall shut. I hope he doesn’t want me to open it again. I think I’ll have to tell him no. (Have I ever told him no?) (Don’t think about it. Thinking hurts.) “You and Penny.”

He doesn’t say anything, so I think that we’re done talking. I’m just going to lay here and sleep. Hopefully he’ll let me. I’ll get up later. After everything stops hurting so much.

Then I hear someone (Penny?) call out Baz’s name, and it comes out scared and sharp. It hurts just like everything else, and I don’t want to do it, but I manage to open my eyes just in time to see talons reaching down from the sky.

Reaching for Baz.

I don’t even think when I see it; I just act.

I shoot a wing out from under me and send it up and over, covering Baz and shoving him into my chest as I roll us so he’s under me. Moving the wing at all sends new waves of pain through my body, but I push through it and send my other one out like a flimsy shield.

If Baz Pitch dies, it's under my dead body.

I hear Penny shout, “ **Dead in the air**!” and another voice (Agatha’s, I think) shriek out the spell at the same time. Their magic singes the air nearby; I use my hands to push Baz’s face into my neck. (He’s flammable. I don’t trust anything that _singes_.) Something lands on top of me, but it doesn’t feel like anything trying to slice me to bits; it just feels like dead weight.

“Simon!” Penny says, and then the weight is off my back and I’m being flipped over, pulling Baz around with me. “Simon, are you okay?” She tries to pull my wing free, I guess to look at me, but I’m refusing to let Baz go. I don’t even think I could if I tried; he’s breathing into my skin and holding onto me just as tight.

“Baz,” I moan, shifting a bit so I can look at him, “are you alright?”

“Fine, Snow,” he whispers. I hear him swallow and focus on how ragged his breathing is and how wild his grey eyes are. He sounds like a storm brewing. He looks it too. And he won't stop shaking.

He did exactly what I knew he would do.

(I saved him. But he wouldn’t have needed saving if he wasn’t trying to make sure I was okay.)

(If we’re together, he’s always going to try to make sure I’m okay.)

(It all hurts.)


	6. Arrival at Watford

**PENNY**

Somehow, we’re all piled back into the car ten minutes later. I don’t really remember how it happened; I remember Simon becoming a shield over Baz, I remember the look in his eyes when we pulled the harpy off his back and flipped them over (it was bad—it was a look like he was too far in his head, like he was miles away and not thinking anything good), and I remember Baz gently pulling himself up so he could dust himself off and check Simon for wounds. I don’t remember going to the car; I don’t remember how we convinced Simon to get in with us.

 _Baz must have said something to him_ , I think. Then I think: _Nicks and Slicks, they’ve got the harpies on their side!_ And then I think: _I want Simon to get out of his head._

I reach my arm around the headrest and place it on Simon’s shoulder. His hands are balled into fists and resting on his thighs like he’s ready to start swinging, but he unclenches one and brings it up to rest it on top of mine. I give his shoulder a squeeze, and I see him tilt his head and give me just about the slightest smile he can manage. (If I didn’t know him any better, I don’t think I would even call it a smile.)

I don’t let go of him, but I do spare a few seconds to start thinking more about how he got attacked.

I mean, the harpy thing shouldn’t be that much of a surprise—we already knew magical creatures of every sort were stewing outside of Watford. But I didn’t think one of them was going to come flying out of the _sky_. I didn’t think we’d start off this war with a creature trying to take Simon out of the equation!

I don’t really have the time for it, but I allow myself to think for a few more seconds. (Simon will be okay for another thirty seconds while I try to figure stuff out. He’s not going to break into pieces beneath my finger pads just because my full attention's not on him.) (At least, I hope he won’t.) Is that what this is? Is this actually the war that’s been brewing my whole life? _This_ is what it’s all been coming to? To harpies trying to cheat Simon out of the fight and my mom holding the line?

The thought of my mom defending Watford makes my stomach roll; I squeeze Simon again, and this time, he squeezes back. “It’s okay,” I hear him whisper to only me. I mean, we’re in a car, so I’m sure everybody else hears, but—but I know where the words are supposed to be headed. I know that he means them for me. He can always tell when I need him most. I used to think that was a magic thing, like his ocean of magic could sense when my well of it was going tight and icy—but now I think it’s just a Simon thing.

I let out a sigh and pretend it helps me breathe.

The war picked a bloody good time to come, didn’t it? It couldn’t have come when Simon was still a beast with unlimited power coursing through him. It waited until after the Chosen One became…not that, anymore. Waited for that, and then waited even longer. And sure, Simon’s got wings and a tail, but he didn’t need a harpy to take him down; he’s been out of commission since that day when he came upon the Mage and—well, I don’t like to think about it because Simon always somehow knows when I’m thinking of it, and it makes _him_ start thinking about it which isn’t good for anybody. (I think I make a face whenever I think of that Christmas. Probably one close to the one I made when I first figured out that Simon wasn’t going to have any more magic. Or when he showed up at my house looking like the devil incarnate.) I allow myself to finish the thought just this once, because he’s not looking at me and I think I can get away with it:

Simon’s been out of the fight since Ebb died and his magic left him. We don’t have our Hail Mary anymore. We’ve got no more explosion to push everything in our direction, and we haven’t for basically a year.

So the question nags at me: why waste a harpy on him?

There’s no _way_ the magical creatures here in England don’t know that Simon’s not magic anymore. Every magical creature we came across in America seemed to know right off the bat. It was like they could smell that he was magic spent; that he wasn’t anything more than bare residuals of a well gone dry. They all just _knew_. Well, except for Lamb, but I don’t like counting him because he was making goo-goo eyes at Baz the entire time, so maybe he just ignored that the smell of magic was coming from the guy with the fangs instead of the guy with the wings. (Which, I mean, if I didn’t know who had magic and who didn’t, and a guy who was clearly a vampire and a guy who was clearly ‘something else’ came up to me, I’d peg the ‘something else’ as the magician.) (Does Lamb even count as magical? He’s just a vampire. So I don’t think he does.) ( _Baz_ is a vampire. But he’s not magical because he has fangs; he’s magical because he’s got _magic_.)

There has to be something I’m missing. I’m sure the magical atmosphere felt it when Simon Snow (the Chosen One) became Simon Snow (the Normal). I know that I felt it when it happened, and it wasn’t just because I was there. When he first started feeding his magic into the Humdrum, I felt my own magic roll over inside of me like it had just been hit with a rock—like something had slammed into the side of it, and like my magic was trying to recover from the waves. And then, when Simon was done, it stopped.

Someone knows that Simon’s not magic, and someone still thinks he’s a threat. Or I guess…that maybe someone knows who his boyfriend is and wants Simon Snow not to be a factor in Baz Pitch’s decision making.

Which is fair enough. Baz is a savage when he's protecting Simon.

I glance over at Baz and give him the once over I should have given him earlier. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel, and every breath looks like it’s shaking through his lungs and then shaking some more on the way out. I’m not surprised that he looks worn out—the second we stopped the car and gave our attention to Simon, he started blurting out poetry magic to heal him up. I’m almost surprised he’s not keeled over entirely after a stunt like that.

This time, when Basil started singing out poetry, he didn’t have Simon backing him up. He just—did it. Even though I know it cost him more than he’s willing to tell us it did.

I glance at Simon again, and he’s looking at Baz like he’s noticing the exact things I am. (Of course he is. That's all Simon seems to care about these days, how well Baz is faring whenever they're close.) (He's always looking at him now like he thinks he's hurting him.) His brows furrow for a few seconds, and then the far away look comes back into his features. He looks more determined this time, though. Like he’s at the end of figuring something out.

I shift my gaze back to the back of Baz’s head. Looking at Simon right now feels too intimate. I feel like I'm seeing something I shouldn't be.

I think I could magic out a poem if the situation called for it, but I don’t know if I’d still be standing when I was done. I’ve never had to try before; I always had Simon, and if we needed anything his sword couldn’t take care of, he would just _go off_ , and that would be that.

I’m not sure how long Baz can keep this up. I’m not sure he even knows how to rest anymore. Too busy trying to protect Simon when Simon doesn’t want it.

I don’t know, I’ve watched them these past few months. And it’s like Baz doesn’t know how to handle Simon when he’s in one of his moods—I don’t think any of us know how to handle it when he gets in his head like that, to be honest—so he just does whatever he can to make reality easier on Simon’s shoulders. Which would be fine if it wasn’t _Simon_. Simon doesn’t do well with feeling like someone is helping him; he never has. I guess that’s what happens when you’re the Chosen One—you get used to people depending on you, so you feel less than when you have to start depending on them.

Sometimes, I wish that I could grab Simon by his collar and yell into his face, “Stop it! Let us help you! Stop feeling like you’re a burden! You’re not! _You’re not!_ ” But I never do, because I’m afraid that he’d just shove me off and stop talking to me.

I feel a nudge in my side, and I turn to look at Agatha next to me. She raises her eyebrows up at me like she’s asking me something; I answer with a tight smile that I know doesn’t reach my eyes.

I can’t tell her any of the stuff I’m thinking about Simon. She’d probably…well, I don’t want to be mean, but she’d probably tell me to be selfish like her and stop worrying about Simon so much. That I’m not required to fix the thing inside of him that broke. That he’s a big boy and that he’ll figure it all out himself. But, the thing is, I just don’t think he _will_. I’ll never tell him this, or Agatha this, or anyone this, but I think Simon’s got too much baggage that he doesn’t know how to deal with to make many good decisions on his own.

If I left Simon to his own devices, I think he’d leave all of us behind. I think he’d do it because he’d think he was sparing us.

Agatha opens her mouth like she’s actually going to start telling me something, but before any syllables actually leave her mouth, Baz is saying, “We’re here,” and swinging onto the road that leads to the gate.

He parks the car as soon as the turn is finished, and we all step out as quickly as we can. (Simon is first out, of course, like he thinks he’s going to have to fight the second his feet touch the ground.)

The first thing I notice is that the air feels different. It takes me a few seconds to place it, but then I take a step forward, and it all rushes into me like I’ve been dropped into a wave of new magic. Which is _exactly_ what happened, I think, when we stepped onto the grounds. This magic parches my tongue; there’s so much of it thrumming in the air that my skin feels prickly and scratchy, and the hair on my arms stands on end.

This isn’t what it normally feels like.

Oh, fuck it all, _this isn't what being around expelled magic usually feels like._

“They’ve done it,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around my center to dull the sensation of the magic on my body. It's too much; it makes me want to burst just to make the feeling stop. I turn my head to look at Baz, and he’s already looking at me. I want to weep. “Baz, _they’ve done it_.”

“Done what?” Simon asks. Shit, if Simon still had his magic—I think he’d have already gone off at the feel of this. He’d have already shot us clear into the center of the fray and started swinging.

Instead, he stands and tries to figure out what we’re feeling that he’s no longer got access to.

I glance at Shepard, who is standing with one hand still situated on the car door handle like he's not yet decided if he's staying or going. He gulps and shakes his body like he's trying to rid himself of a chill, and I think even _he's_ feeling more of this magic than Simon is.

If it were any other time, I'd be sobbing for Simon again. (I've sobbed for him more times than I can count.) Instead, I force a deep breath down my throat and straighten up as best as I can manage.

“The vampires,” Baz snarls, answering Simon's question. His wand was already in his hand, but now it’s _wielded_ in his hand, ready to shoot. He brings his other hand out and starts a fire above his palm before looking back at Simon. “They’ve gotten fucking _magic_.”

Simon growls and takes off for the school without another word.

We follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i know it's been a while but here is another chapter. things are about to get Spicy


	7. On The Great Lawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta? what's a beta? in this house we die like men. we write down words and then worry about fixing them later

**SIMON**

I’m the first one to take off towards Watford, which means I’m the one who makes it to the gate first. So I don’t get any warning when I stride up and it’s blown wide open and laying crumpled on the grass like an explosion or a tornado rolled through it. But the rest of them do, when I say, “Hell. Merlin and Morgana and _fuck_ ,” because I can’t think of anything better.

The gate looks rough, to say the absolute least. Like someone—a giant, an ogre, someone with hands the size of my chest, probably—took it, crushed it in their fists, and then had the decency to set it out on the lawn. It doesn't look like the spells did anything to stop them. Because, I mean. We'd see something else if they had worked, right? We'd see scorch marks or dried blood or something. So the spells _must_ have stopped working. Or maybe the creatures just powered through them with their brand new magic; maybe they just absorbed the gate's stuff into their own. (I used to be able to do that sometimes. Whenever I was going off, I don't think anything could touch me.) (But I can't do that anymore. Because I’m not magic anymore. Because I don’t belong here anymore. _Fuck_.)

The monsters got into Watford. We were too late to stop them.

Not that I really thought we would get here in time. Not with how upset Penny was after her mom called. (She was the most upset I’ve ever seen her. I don’t think she ate a lot on the plane.) (I should have been paying more attention, but. But, but, but.) It’s different, though, seeing it up close and knowing that we weren’t here to stop it. I feel sick, like— _fuck_ , like I should have been here.

I can’t go off anymore, but I could have helped. This is _Watford_. My…my home. _I should have been here_. I could have done _something_. I could have found a sword; I could have _helped_. But I wasn’t here. None of us were here. We were too busy running around in America.

 _We should have been here_.

“What is—” Baz starts, surprising me with how close he is. I can practically feel his breath hitting the back of my neck, in the spot right above where my wings start to sprout. Then he’s ducking beneath my wing and standing at my shoulder (thank Merlin) and seeing the gate like I do, and his mouth falls open in shock. I know that I don’t look much different. (My mouth is always open, though. Baz calls me _mouthbreather_ all the time, like a pet name.) (I don’t know if I’ll miss it or not. After we break up.) I move a half-step to the right, just enough to make an inch of distance between us—just enough that our shirts aren’t rubbing against each other, just enough that I don't feel myself starting to freak out or something. He makes a face at me that I don't like and then closes his mouth and looks away.

Before I can say anything (not that I _would_ say anything—I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say. _Sorry, but I don’t want us to touch_? _Just give me some space_? _Sorry, Baz, but I can’t hold it in any longer, we need to break up right now_?), Penny ducks around me and appears at my other shoulder. (I think my wings spread out when I found the gate to stop them from seeing it. I think part of me wanted to hide this from them. Oops.) As soon as she sees the gate, she makes this awful noise like the wind has just been sucked up out of her. Maybe it has.

“Oh, fuck,” she says softly. She reaches a hand up to her mouth and grabs my sleeve with her other, and I put an arm around her back to steady her. I don’t think about how Baz is looking at me when I do it. (This isn't about him. _This isn't about him_. He doesn't get to look at me like that, like he's demanding an explanation. Get fucked.) “Great snakes, it’s open.” I glance over at Penny and take her in: she’s shaking, and she looks like she’s trying to keep her body tucked in tight. Like she’s trying to expose herself to as little of the air as possible.

It takes me a minute. (It always does.) But I get there eventually—to the reason why we’re here and the reason why she would look like she’s trying to protect herself from something around us— and I think, _Oh. Right. She’s still feeling the new magic._ I look away. But I don't look at Baz, because there's too much happening with him right now for me stare. Instead, I look at the gate again and keep my focus there. Like if I stare hard enough, I can fix the gate and stop the dark creatures from invading.

I don’t feel it at all. The new magic.

Most days, I don’t feel a lot of magic anyway. It’s really only Baz and Penny’s magic that I can make out now. Ever since Christmas and the…er. The stuff. (That, er, stuff with the Mage.) I guess I could probably still feel Agatha’s magic too if I really tried, but I don’t think I want to.

It’s like…I don’t really know how to explain it. Like I can’t sense anyone’s magic if it wasn’t constantly around me before, you know?

I used to feel everything—every time someone cast a spell, I’d feel it clinging onto mine. I’d smell them firing it off and wish I could cast as cleanly as they could.

Now, I only ever really feel it when Penny and Baz cast near me. Like they’ve left an echo or a footprint inside of me from all the time we spent together in school and I’m still saving them room to fill. Like I’m empty in the spaces they’ve kept—and nothing can fill me up but them. Their magic lingers on me; I can still taste it most of the time when they’re singing it off. (Like earlier, when I knew that Penny had turned me back visible.) (Like earlier too, when I knew that Baz was the one healing me up.)

But then they stop casting. And I go back to being filled with nothing.

I know they wouldn’t want me thinking the stuff that I am. But I can’t help it.

Because whenever they stop using their magic, it’s like I go back to being the Humdrum. A big, sucking nothing, except this time, I _know_ that it’s me. It’s not some other version of me going around and taking everybody’s magic; this time, I know that I’m the broken thing hurting everybody. This time, I know that _I’m_ the thing everybody should probably be trying to defeat.

Sometimes I wonder…well. I wonder if everyone’s wrong about me still. I wonder: if Baz and Penny found some way to pour their magic into me…if I would disappear like the Humdrum too.

I don’t think about whether I want to.

**PENNY**

I feel like I’m probably going to start sobbing.

We were too late. We were so, so, so far past too late.

Simon and Baz look like they’re going to have another tiff, and I think I’m going to implode if they do. (Right now, I think I'll just implode regardless.) Simon got to the gate before us, and then, when Baz ran up next to him, stepped away so they weren’t touching, and I _could not care less_ about this than I do right now. They cannot do this. Not right now. (I mean, they _could_ , in the literal sense. But they _shouldn’t_ , in the physical sense, because I’ll scream at them.)

There are so many more important things to be focusing on besides whether their relationship is going to go up in flames. Like how the NowNext vampires _have magic now_. (Let me repeat: THE NOWNEXT VAMPIRES HAVE MAGIC NOW. I can still feel it tingling on my skin and trying to claw into my pores.) (The thing we wanted to prevent them from doing, they went ahead and did it.) Or how my mother is probably still shooting spells at them, even if she’s the last mage here standing.

Merlin. Shit. A cold runs through my belly and settles there, and my grip on Simon’s shirt sleeve tightens. _My mother might be the last mage here standing._ Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there are other mages here, or at least that there _were_ other mages here. This is _Watford_ ; no one’s going to let this place go down without a fight.

But Agatha’s parents aren’t super strong, and I don’t know how many of the Pitches or Grimms would have shown up and stayed after grabbing their kids, and our two powerhouse magicians got indisposed last Christmas…

“We have to find my mother,” I say before I let go of Simon and walk through the place where the gate used to stand. (How did they break down the gate? How did they get through the spells?) I don’t even care if anyone follows me. I’m finding her with or without them.

The hand that was holding Simon is now cradling my stomach again, like putting it there is enough of a deterrent for my stomach to stop rolling like I’m about to throw up. (It isn’t. I still feel like I’m going to puke out the little bit that I ate on the flight over.) I look down at my feet and try to ignore the itch of spent magic all over me, and I notice that the path leading up to the school through the Great Lawn is covered in footprints, the kind that look like they belong to normal human feet—and the kind that look like they belong to all things monstrous and terrible. The footprints don’t remain confined to the path, though—there’s more on either side of us. Like there were more flanking.

This is like…like a whole _army_ of monsters, brimming with new magic.

I speed up. Just a bit.

My mother is probably fighting for her life right now, and I don’t even know fully against _what_ —an orge? Another harpy? A werewolf? A very determined selkie?—and that makes her _so much more_ important than whatever self-destructive thing Simon’s thinking about his dying relationship. I hate to say it, but it’s _true_ , and, honestly, I don’t think I feel all that bad about thinking it. Finding my mom is the thing we need to be focusing on. I don’t need anyone’s help if they’re going to act like she isn’t the part of this that really matters. (I bet this is what Baz felt like when we didn’t want to go numpty hunting with him. I can’t say I blame him anymore, honestly. The Mage had killed his _mom_ ; all he wanted were some answers.) (If anyone has killed my mom, I’m going to blast them into smithereens. I’m going to tear them apart limb by limb. I know the spells to do it.)

I don’t need them to follow me; I’m just fine doing this on my own. But…I mean…

When Simon comes to walk by my side, I do let out a breath.

I like Simon next to me. I breathe easier with him here. I like it when he’s on my side, fighting my battles with me. It makes me think of every other time we’ve been like this. It feels right, like this is where he’s supposed to be—like this is what works. Me and Simon, facing down the baddies. Together. I don’t care that he doesn’t have magic anymore, that he won’t be able to help me out like he used to. Having him choose to walk with me is enough, I think. It makes me feel like I'll do better, like my spells will ring truer so long as he's right by me.

I throw a glance back over my shoulder, just to check. I mean, I hear their footsteps following behind me and Simon, but it still makes me feel warm in my chest when I look past Simon’s wings and see Baz, Agatha, and Shepard right behind us, looking ready to fight too.

We’re all here.

We're all here, and we're all willing to fight for this place. It'd be proper motivating if I wasn't already determined enough to do this.

I drag my arm back across my stomach and let it swing between us for a few seconds before Simon grabs it, and then I squeeze hard around his fingers. He squeezes back, and if I wasn’t freaking out, I would be breathing a sigh of relief.

We’ll sort out this Baz stuff later, we will. I’m not done trying to help them stay together (or break up, I guess, if that’s really where this needs to go). I’m just…putting it on hold. We’ll deal with it eventually. Later. Once my mom is okay. Once Watford becomes safe again. Once the NowNext is actually gone.

Right now, though—

Baz makes some kind of noise that I can't decipher when we get about halfway down. At first, I don’t know why he says it (is he just now noticing the footprints too?), but then he’s crashing through my shoulder and rushing past us, and I think that someone must be hurt, and I look at where he’s headed, and—

“ _Merlin_ ,” I hiss. Because there, standing on the Great Lawn, pointing her wand at the something behind her and throwing fire at the something in front of her (I can’t tell what it is; vampire, maybe? Is the other one a vampire too?) and looking like she’s hardly even breaking a sweat doing it—

**BAZ**

It doesn’t take any time for me to decide to sprint towards her. I don’t even think I _make_ the decision; it’s like I see her, and my muscles decide for me all by themselves. I’m running her way before I’ve even fully realized it’s her. (No one's got that streak in their hair, though. No one but her.) I scream her name.

“ _Fiona!_ ”

Her head snaps up to me.

**PENNY**

—is Fiona bloody Pitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAHHHH we're a few chapters away from my favorite part of this fic. i'm so EXCITED!!!


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